


Three weeks, and four days

by LauranicusPond



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, This is just really sad guys, Unrequited Love, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauranicusPond/pseuds/LauranicusPond
Summary: Their fingers laced together on top of the blanket is what does it for Trott. He forces a smile he’s sure that they don't even register and puts the mugs of tea down on the table before retreating back to the armchair. He draws his legs up, resting his mug on his knees. They take up the whole sofa, all long limbs tangled together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short thing I wrote to get some feelings out around about valentines, that I figured I might as well share.

Their fingers laced together on top of the blanket is what does it for Trott. He forces a smile he’s sure that they don't even register and puts the mugs of tea down on the table before retreating back to the armchair. He draws his legs up, resting his mug on his knees. They take up the whole sofa, all long limbs tangled together. 

He keeps telling himself that he doesn't mind. Keeps reminding himself that he's glad they're happy together. Digs his nails into the palm of his hand until they leave red crescent moons and tells himself again. He's happy for them. Happy happy happy. The marks on his palm don't hurt as much as the lump in his throat. 

They've been officially dating for three weeks. Three weeks and four days. Smith’s not slept in his own bed, in his own room, for three weeks and three nights. Trott knows it was for his benefit, knows he should be grateful he can't hear anything, any noises that they might make together. All Smith’s departure for Ross’ ground floor room has done is make Trott feel more lost. 

They're going out. Trott leans against the kitchen counter and watches Smith, topless, ironing his shirt. It's dark green, and Trott halfheartedly makes a joke about staying on brand even on date night. Smith laughs, and laughs again when Ross appears through the doorway in a pale blue button down. 

“What?” Ross asks, smiling. 

Smith shakes his head and pulls his shirt on. His phone buzzes on the counter, and Trott glances at it. 

“Your taxi’s outside.” Trott tells them, holding Smith’s phone out to him. “Go, I'll put this away.” He gestures at the iron, and the ironing board. 

“Thanks, mate.” Smith grins at him and takes his phone, shoving it into his pocket. 

Trott shoos them out of the kitchen and lingers in the hallway while they pull on coats and push their feet into shoes. 

“Don’t wait up!” Smith grins and winks at Trott on their way out.

Trott laughs until the door slams behind them, and then lets his smile fade. Trott puts the iron and the ironing board away. He gathers the cups and the plates scattered around their living room and around their computers, and washes them slowly. Trott moves through the house, turning off the lights on the way to his bedroom. He makes it almost to his bedroom before his lip starts to tremble.

It’s okay, he thinks. They’re not here. There’s no one to see. 

Trott shuts the door behind him and crawls onto his bed. He sits at the head, legs out in front of him, back against the wall. The house is quiet. Trott takes a deep breath. Another. Another. It’s okay, he thinks again. He’s okay. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, unlocks it.

He must have left Facebook up last time he checked his phone, because it opens right away. Trott feels like he’s been kicked in the chest. Ross smiles out of the screen, Smith pressing a kiss to his cheek, eyes closed. 

It hurts.

Oh god, it hurts.

Trott lets his phone fall to the covers, bringing his hands up to cover his face. He doesn’t try to stop himself crying this time. His body shakes with sobs that hurt his throat and make him cough and struggle to catch his breath. Trott draws his knees up. Trott pulls a pillow into his lap and presses his face into it, howling. 

He doesn’t know how long he cries for.

He doesn’t feel like it helps.


End file.
